by Aven Ellis
I’m stupid giddy at this moment. We’re going to dinner tonight! I’m about to reply when he sends me another message:
Going to skate at the rink with Jupe now. Gotta gear up for training camp next week. Excited for that. But more excited to see you and get your thoughts on lettuce.
Ohhhhhhhh!
I type back that I’m just as excited and will completely change his view on lettuce tonight and hit send.
Ding!
I shift my attention to my email. Angelique has replied. I steel myself and open her response.
I do not pay you to come up with ideas using insipid candy confetti. This is why you are not given development projects. You obviously have a taste problem. Please come to my office to discuss.
Hot anger burns in me as I re-read her words.
While my romance with Cade is moving forward, my Funfetti cupcakes were just told to exit the freeway. Along with my apparently insipid taste.
But I’m not taking the exit ramp just yet.
Just like Cade does on the ice, I’m going to stand up for myself. My idea is good, it’s perfect for Skye, and more to the point, Bake It! magazine readers would love it.
I rise from my chair.
If Angelique thinks I won’t fight over candy confetti, she doesn’t know Josephine Rossi.
Well, she’s about to get to know the real me.
Right now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I think calming thoughts as I head down the hallway to Angelique’s office. I can’t go in livid. I need to present a mature, educated defense of my decision to use candy confetti.
I stop walking. It’s almost comical when I stop to think about it. I’m passionately going to defend my choice of using candy confetti in a cupcake for a baking magazine. Our content is geared toward the casual home baker. If they wanted to make a chocolate gateau with dots of sauce, a chocolate powder crumble, and freaking foam requiring hours of work, special equipment, and expensive ingredients, they’d subscribe to Joys of Pâte Brisée, not Bake It! magazine.
I exhale. Okay. Time to fight for my cupcake.
I move forward and stand outside of Angelique’s office. She’s typing at her computer, probably sending a message to her fellow editors asking how to deal with an insipid underling who doesn’t understand the importance of complexity and dramatic plating.
I rap on the doorframe. Angelique looks up.
“Come in,” she says.
I enter her office and stand at the edge of her desk.
“Have a seat, Josephine.”
I sit down. Angelique moves her laptop aside and leans forward toward me.
“May I be blunt with you?” she asks, peering at me through her chic designer glasses.
Ha-ha! I think calling my idea insipid wasn’t exactly holding back, but hey, whatever you need, Angelique.
“Of course,” I answer.
“I don’t know if you have what it takes to be a recipe developer.”
I sit dead still while a stream of choice Italian swear words flash through my head. Bullshit, I think as anger roils inside of me. I do have the skills. And it’s total crap for you to sit here and set out to destroy me just because I don’t want to use edible 24-karat gold on my cupcakes.
“Would you please elaborate on how you came to that conclusion based on one proposal?” I ask calmly.
Angelique’s green eyes narrow for a millisecond. She doesn’t like that I’m challenging her.
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Josephine, your proposal was, for lack of a better word, disappointing. I didn’t expect such immature suggestions from someone at your level. It was actually stunning.”
Fuse.Lit.For.JoJo.Explosion.
I take a moment to act as though I’m considering her words, which she completely misinterprets as acceptance.
“I know this is hard to digest,” Angelique continues, her voice grave. “But it’s obvious your future is in testing and following directions. As your mentor, I would be doing you a great disservice if I let you follow down a path I don’t think you’ll ever see the end of.”
And BOOM!
“You aren’t my mentor,” I say.
Angelique’s eyes pop wide open in shock.
“Pardon me?”
“You’re my assignment editor. I report to you.” I pause for dramatic effect. “May I be completely honest with you, as you have been with me?”
Ohhhhhhhhhh, she’s fuming. I can see her eye twitch.
“Of course,” she says, but her tone implies otherwise.
“A mentor is someone who helps guide someone else to achieve success.”
“That is what I’m doing,” Angelique interjects. “I’m leading you away from career failure.”
“No. A true mentor would teach and inspire me. You don’t do that. And that’s fine, you don’t have to be my mentor, but don’t say you are when you are not.”
She twists her face up. Obviously if her agenda was to upset me or put her thumb on me, it’s failing.
“Point taken, Josephine. But your proposal is childish. Sadly, I can’t even blame Skye for that because I know she doesn’t have the basic understanding of baking necessary to come up with those silly cupcake ideas. But you—I expected more from you.”
“My proposal was based on three components,” I counter. “It had to reflect Skye’s personality since they are supposed to be her cupcakes. I can tell you right now, she’d rather set herself on fire than eat vanilla foam with a cupcake.”
Ha! Angelique’s ivory skin turns bright red, and I know I’ve pissed her off.
“Second, I was mindful of the demographic of our readers when I conceptualized these ideas. They are women. The median age is 52. They spend an average of 52.1 minutes pouring over an issue. In our ‘Reader Comments’ section, I see the words ‘accessible’ and ‘fun’ over and over. And while yes, we do have recipes that challenge the home cook and help them elevate a dish, they don’t want a cupcake with 30 ingredients or one using flour imported from Italy. And while you think candy confetti is insipid, I think it would be fun, which was my third component. I wanted these to be simple, genuine, fun cupcakes, especially for readers cooking for their kids or grandchildren. By the way, Skye loves Funfetti. Her birthday cake is always Funfetti, so it’s reflective of her, too. Therefore, I stand behind all of the ideas I submitted to you and, respectfully, ask for your reconsideration.”
“Sounds like you’ve done your homework,” a voice from behind me says.
I freeze. I know that confident voice.
It’s Tiffany Kendrick, our editorial director.
I turn and find Tiffany standing in the doorway. She’s been at the helm since the magazine was created. She’s in her early forties and has short, choppy blond hair and impeccable style. She’s wearing a crisp white shirt, a stack of bangles on her wrist and, as always, her signature Kendra Scott drop earrings.
“So, I take it you want a Funfetti cupcake for the Skye Reeve feature?” Tiffany asks, pausing to take a sip of coffee from a bright pink tumbler that says “BOSS LADY” on it.
“I do,” I say, nodding my head.
“We’ve done Funfetti a million times before,” Angelique says. “I’m trying to get Josephine to think outside the box a bit.”
I shoot her a look. Are you kidding? She wasn’t trying to get me to do anything but go back to testing recipes!
“But for Valentine’s Day, Funfetti hits the spot for kids,” Tiffany says. “And if it’s Skye’s favorite type of cake, the article would entirely miss the point if Funfetti wasn’t included.”
My heart pounds in my chest.
Tiffany Kendrick gets my vision.
“I agree,” I say confidently.
Whoosh! The daggers in Angelique’s eyes fly into my back, and I feel the sting of their impact.
“I’ll green light that one. Why don’t you send me your proposal, and I’ll give it the once over,” Tiffany says, essentially ripping the project out of Angeli
que’s hands. “Skye Reeve was a big land for us. She’s America’s newest sweetheart, and our readers will love seeing her happy at last on Valentine’s Day, even if it is with a plate of cupcakes. Funfetti makes her relatable. Josephine, I have a good feeling about this project in your hands. I’ll work with you on this.”
“But . . . it’s my assignment,” Angelique sputters.
Tiffany shoots her a knowing look. “And as we’ve talked about before, while you have beautiful food knowledge and ideas, we need to make sure they fit our demographic.”
Oooooooooooooh!
I glance at Angelique. She is the color of a tomato.
“I’m about to go into a meeting,” Tiffany continues. “Josephine, could you shoot me that proposal right now?”
“I’d be delighted to,” I say, rising from my chair. I turn to Angelique, who barely acknowledges my leaving.
As soon as I do, Tiffany shuts the door behind me. Ooooh! I wonder what that is going to be about. The policy of our workplace is “open doors for open minds,” so it can’t be good. My guess is Angelique is about to be dragged over the coals by Tiffany, and it’s not going to be pleasant.
My brain is spinning as I head back to my desk. I know I’ve just made my work life hell with Angelique for all the days to come, but it was worth it. Tiffany Kendrick is going to guide me through my first development project. She’s smart, she’s driven, and best of all, she’s mindful of who we are publishing for. Ahhhhhhhh! I’m so excited to get started!
I sit down in front of my computer and forward my proposal to Tiffany. Now I need to get into the test kitchen and work on today’s assignment, which is testing chocolate chip cookies using muscovado and demerara sugars instead of light brown sugar and recording the results.
I log off my computer, grab my iPad, and head down the hall to get changed. Today is turning out to be a good day. I won my project. Angelique won’t oversee me on it, praise the Lord. I’m going to be baking chocolate chip cookies all day, and I love the scent of them wafting from the oven, all the vanilla and chocolate and sugar. It’s heaven.
And the icing on the awesome cake that is today?
Spending another evening with Cade Callahan.
I smile with contentment.
Right now, there are no yellow lights.
All I see is green ahead.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I’m so excited to try this place,” I say eagerly, gazing around the patio.
But I’m even more excited to be here with you, I add to myself.
After my victory over Angelique today, Cade has taken me to Bones, a famous restaurant in the Capital Hill area of Denver. The temperature has dipped into the upper sixties, making it a beautiful September evening for eating outside on the small patio.
I glance back at Cade, who has a navy and gray plaid flannel shirt thrown over a white T-shirt. A backward navy Denver Broncos baseball hat covers his hair, and his stubble is fuller than usual.
Damn. His rugged look tonight is smoking hot.
I swear the temperature outside is climbing instead of falling because suddenly I feel the need to take off my cardigan.
The server comes by with our beers, and Cade puts in an order for steamed buns with pork belly filling. He orders lobster ramen as his entrée and I follow his lead because it sounds way too good to pass up. As soon as the server walks away, Cade turns his attention toward me.
“Josephine?”
“Yes?”
“I brought you here for a very important reason. I have to know something about you before we can move forward, and this is the perfect place for you to answer my question.”
I know he’s teasing me by the sparkle in his eyes. Cade reaches for my hand across the table, and pure electricity surges through me the second his masculine hand wraps around mine.
“Okay,” I say, nodding gravely.
“You have to answer honestly.”
“Honesty is paramount to any relationship, of course.”
Cade’s face freezes in response to my words, his smile replaced by a serious expression.
Oh shit, shit, shit, why did I say relationship? We are supposed to be going slowly, and here I am tossing that word out on our first night out at a restaurant? Why did I say that, why?
“I mean, in any kind of relationship, not just romantic, of course,” I say, the words flying out of my mouth. “I’m not saying we’re in a relationship. I get that. I just want you to know I believe in honesty. Everywhere. All the time. I don’t like lies and—”
“Josephine,” Cade interrupts, squeezing my hand in a reassuring way. “I agree with you. Honesty is important in a romantic relationship. And I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, averting his eyes. “Sometimes I just start talking and I don’t shut up. It’s the way I grew up. To be heard in my family, you just had to start talking and say as much as you could before someone began talking over you.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” Cade says.
I glance back at him, and I see he’s staring at me.
“How would you know?” I ask.
“I think you’re passionate, and when you feel a certain way, you come out and say it. If I was staring at you, it’s because I’ve never been with a woman who really says what she means. You’re a first for me.”
My heart holds still as I drink in his words. He’s revealed something about his ex Cassidy here, I know it. But I also know I don’t want to talk about her tonight.
Not when we’re discovering who we can be together.
“Okay, then I take it back,” I say, smiling at him. “When I care about something, when I’m invested, I’m passionate.”
“So you’re invested in me?”
My head screams to be coy, to be safe. Flirt with him, don’t answer his question. Ask him to answer it first.
“I’m invested,” I say, my heart answering for me.
Cade’s jade eyes linger on mine.
“Good. Because I’m invested, too,” he says, running his fingers over the top of my hand.
Ahhhh!
“And because I’m invested, my question is important.”
“And the question is?”
“Do you slurp your ramen?” Cade asks, his expression serious.
“Wait,” I say, studying him, “your serious question this whole time has been about ramen?”
Cade releases my hand and adjusts his baseball hat. “Well, while honesty is paramount, so is how a woman eats her ramen.”
I burst out laughing. “You kill me. All you wanted to know is how I eat ramen and I’m going on about relationships and honesty. I should be mad at you!”
He grins wickedly at me. “But you aren’t.”
No, I think, I’m not.
“Well, honesty obviously means nothing compared to ramen. You have to use your chopsticks. And, yes, I slurp.”
Cade twists his face into one of reflection. “So you slurp?”
“Absolutely. In Japanese culture, if you don’t, you’re insulting the chef.” Then I lean across the table. “Do you slurp?”
Cade leans closer to me so we’re inches apart. The sexy soap scent lingering on his skin drifts toward me, and my heartbeat quickens in response.
“I slurp,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Good to know,” I say, anticipation building in me.
“It is. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to get serious with a bowl of ramen,” he says, moving closer so our mouths are about to touch.
I close my eyes when his hand gently touches my face, caressing it. A shiver shoots down my spine as I feel his palm on my skin.
Oh God, I never dreamed a conversation about slurping could be so hot.
Cade’s full lips descend on mine, and my body burns white hot from his brief, soft kiss.
Then he lifts his head.
“So we’re ramen compatible,” Cade declares.
; “Check it off the list,” I say.
“Consider it checked,” he says, leaning in for another quick kiss.
I drink in every second of our brief kiss, the taste of beer on his lips, his sexy scent, the way his hand constantly caresses my skin whenever his lips find mine.
Cade lifts his head and studies me with his gorgeous eyes.
“How did it take me so long to see you?” he says, his voice etched with amazement as he reaches for my hand across the table again.
“We weren’t ready when we first met,” I say softly.
But I’m ready for you now, I think as I stare into his eyes. And I think you’re ready for me, too. As long as we move slowly.
The server reappears with our steamed buns, interrupting our moment.
“Thank you so much,” Cade says, smiling at the server.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy,” she says, retreating to the next table.
“You can’t go wrong with these,” Cade declares, inclining his head toward the appetizer sitting between us.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Are they fluffy on the inside? Like a pillow?”
A smile lights up his face. “Heck, yes.”
I giggle. “And the pork belly?”
“It melts in your mouth.”
“You’re talking an educated game, Cade Callahan,” I tease.
Cade stares seriously at me. “Test me. If I’m right, I’ll earn another star, which means I get to kiss you. And I have no doubt I will be kissing you after you try it.”
Ohhhhh!
I put one on my plate. Cade doesn’t move. He simply watches me, waiting for me to take a bite.
I pick up a bun, which is open like a taco with pork belly in the center and a dash of hoisin and green onions on top. I decide I want a pure bite first, so I resist the urge to dip it in the sauce provided with it.
I take a slow bite, and I moan in pleasure.
Cade’s eyes flicker.
“Mmmm,” I murmur. “Oh, God.”
I set the rest of my pork bun down and enjoy my bite.
“And the verdict?” Cade asks.
“This,” I say slowly, “is perfection. Such a wonderfully fluffy, soft bun. The pork belly is succulent. The bit of green onion adds brightness, and there is just the right amount of hoisin glaze.”
